


Sunburn

by hatebeat



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:51:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatebeat/pseuds/hatebeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pickles is sunburnt and Skwisgaar is a good pal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunburn

For the past week, Pickles and Nathan had been away on their own little vacation in order to get some fresh ideas for the album. It wasn't unusual for them to do that kind of thing, but they'd made the Dethklok Minute again-- more rumours of being gay and all that shit. After all these years, it was still a fuckin' laugh, like two pals couldn't go on vacation together without one of 'em taking it up the ass from the other. But that was fame and all. Whatever. After all these years, Pickles was never really bothered anymore by what the media had to say. He'd seen every degree of absurdity by now.

He was more bothered by the teasing he underwent in the rehearsal room the day after they got back. Yeah, so he had a little sunburn, so what? These guys had known him for-fucking-ever and every time he went out in the damn sun, he came back in looking like a lobster, and sunscreen didn't help for shit. And every time, the other guys thought it was the funniest shit they'd ever seen. What the hell did they expect him to look like after he just spent a week on the shores of Costa Rica?!

Hours after rehearsal, Pickles was sprawled out over his bed in nothing but his jeans; his shirt had been irritating his burnt shoulders the whole damn day. He was reading Drum Magazine with half a dozen empty beer bottles littering his nightstand, realising that as much as he loved palling around at the beach with Nathan, he was glad to be home and have a little time to himself.

The knock on his door, therefore, mildly irritated him soon after it surprised him. He didn't really feel like hanging out with any of the guys right now. 

"Whatta you want?" Pickles called out, not bothering to look up from his magazine. He calmly turned a glossy page.

Nobody answered. Instead, his door creaked open, and it clicked shut again even as Pickles looked up from the article. Skwisgaar wandered wordlessly into his bedroom and approached the bed, and with the way Skwisgaar was looking him over, he half-expected another jape about the redness of his skin.

Instead, Skwisgaar let a bottle of aloe slip from his fingertips and plop onto the surface of his magazine.

"Thought you can use some helps with them burns."

Pickles watched as Skwisgaar stripped his own shirt off and dropped it onto the cold stone of the floor.

"You're gonna help, huh? Rather'n just givin' me shit for it?"

"Takes off you's pants off so I can gets you all," Skwisgaar instructed, ignoring the question. It didn't really need to be answered anyway.

Pickles wormed a hand underneath him, fumbling with the button of his jeans without rolling over as Skwisgaar crawled onto the bed. Fingers hooked into Pickles' belt loops once his zipper was down and tugged them over his hips swiftly. Pickles helped minimally as Skwisgaar yanked them from his legs, along with his briefs. 

As Skwisgaar settled down over him, straddling his ass- the only part of his body that wasn't red- Pickles shoved the magazine to the side.

"This is awfully generous of you," he commented casually, folding his arms and setting his cheek down on them. 

Skwisgaar leaned close to Pickles' ear, close enough that Pickles could feel the brush of his lips.

"I doesn't dos this for free," he said, with no hint of affection, but Pickles could actually hear his smirk. And as Skwisgaar leaned back up, he grabbed the tie that was holding Pickles dreads off his neck and gathered his own hair into a low ponytail instead.

Skwisgaar snatched up the bottle and flipped the cap. The liquid oozed unceremoniously into stringy piles of stripes across his back, but he was grateful for it when Skwisgaar's fingers, rough like sandpaper from decades of steel strings cutting into them, started to cascade across his skin.

"Shit, that's cold," Pickles murmured, squirming. Skwisgaar's hands kept him flat against the mattress, though. 

"Feels good?"

Skwisgaar moved further, rubbing the aloe over Pickles' shoulders, his arms, and Pickles let the cool feeling of relief wash over him. The guys made fun of him, but this shit seriously hurt like a bitch!

"Yeah," Pickles sighed, closing his eyes.

Skwisgaar's fingers trickled down his sides, caressing him as much as he was cooling his enflamed skin with that damned magical liquid. He scooted back a bit, then squirted a little more of the aloe on Pickles' lower back, right at the line where bright red met the pale skin of his pale ass.

"Wonder how this feel."

When cold fingers pushed between his cheeks, Pickles jumped an inch or two, glancing back over his shoulder. 

"Dude," Pickles laughed out in surprise, "that ain't gonna do shit for lube."

"Let's finds out, ah?" Skwisgaar said with a lazy grin, sliding a long finger into Pickles' ass. It felt cool even on the inside, and Skwisgaar curled his finger, making Pickles' toes curl in turn. He didn't even bother to hold back a sigh of pleasure.

Skwisgaar stretched him open, slowly and patiently, using more of that damned aloe as he went. Pickles heard a zipper, then the crinkle of a condom's plastic wrapper, felt Skwisgaar shimmying to get his pants down on top of him.

"You're gonna fuck me when I'm in this much pain? You're fuckin' cruel, dude."

"Your ass amn't burns," Skwisgaar said flippantly, and he wiped up the rest of the aloe from Pickles back, smearing it over his cock.

Pickles groaned out as Skwisgaar's cock shoved into him, simultaneously both fire and ice. He dug his fingers into the crevice where Pickles' hip met his thigh, pulling him up onto his knees, starting to move, starting to get into it.

Pickles ground his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut, biting his fucking lip. Shit, it was good, and that aloe felt damned good and damned weird inside him at first, but...

"That shit's too dry," Pickles said, stretching up like a cat to worm a hand inside his pillow case, then he shoved a little bottle of lube back over the mattress toward Skwisgaar.

"You's just a baby," Skwisgaar accused, but he pulled out slowly, slathering on some of Pickle's lubricant along with a bit more of the aloe. He grunted as he pushed back into Pickles, fingers scraping a little bit too much at the burnt skin of his waist.

 

After, Skwisgaar laid uncomfortably on Pickles' sweaty back, and still on his stomach, Pickles awkwardly took a swig of beer through the side of his lips. 

"I think you're gonna have to reapply that shit, dude," Pickles told him honestly. "Think I sweat it all off already." It was starting to burn again.

"Ja," Skwisgaar agreed, not putting up a hint of a fight. "Maybe I does it for you again tomorrows also."


End file.
